Page 177 of Between the Lines

Her bedroom is neat.

The bed is made. Her two giant suitcases are gone. I stride to the closet and rip open the doors, but all that greets me are empty shelves and hangers.

There’s a manila envelope resting on her desk.

I open it up. The title page has two words on top, typed in simple sans serif.Titan, Rising.Below, the subtitle reads:A story of Aiden Hartman.And at the very bottom, in a font size so small that it makes me grit my teeth, is her name. Charlotte Gray.

There’s a Post-it slapped on top. It has her familiar handwriting, with only two words written on the note.

I’m sorry.

CHAPTER 63

AIDEN

She’s not at her rental in Westwood. She never comes back to the house. And she refuses to answer her phone.

No calls, no texts.

She’d left behind her new car, and taken her old Honda.

Maybe she’s at another resort, somewhere deep in one of the national parks

Sleep eludes me.

I sit all night on the couch by the giant living room windows, the shimmering view of Los Angeles as my only companion, and read page after page of Charlotte’s manuscript. Halfway through the prologue, I had to get up to pour myself a glass of bourbon.

Fuck.

She opened with me walking into the courtroom for my father’s trial. The eyes of the world, cameras, questions. Responsibility. She’s captured all of it, but in her tone. The tone she’s often used with me. No-nonsense, wry, sometimes funny, and at times ironic. Often sharp and exacting. Intelligent.

It might be my life she’s written about, but I see her in every line, in every choice of word.

The next chapters were about the immediate aftermath. Then, she started alternating structure, shifting between thepast—mine and Titan’s—back to the trial. What I had to do to satisfy the investigators and the Board. The people I had to let go and the new direction I’d taken the company.

She’s included everything she’s learned. Including the conversation with Mandy that I had no idea they had. My eyes pause on the passage, and I have to read it twice more. My sister said I’ve always taken it upon myself to protect her, protect our family, and that it’s often come at a cost to myself.

Not that he listens when I try to tell him to do more for himself.

The man on the page is me.

It’s a polished, slightly elevated version of me. The flaws mentioned are only those that make sense within the greater narrative. But it is me.

I’m nearing the end, and it’s close to midnight when a knock sounds at my door.

In a few long strides, I’m at the front door and throwing it open.

It’s not her.

Mandy stands on the other side. She’s in a long silk trenchcoat, and she’s frowning.

“You look terrible,” she says.

“Fuck. We had dinner plans, didn’t we?”

“Yes. With Mom no less, who is very peeved you haven’t been answering your phone.” She steps past me into the house. “What the hell happened here?”

I glance at my living room as if seeing it for the first time. Pages are spread everywhere. Half a bottle of bourbon on the edge of the coffee table.

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